I think way too much

Now, I've wondered about this issue for a long long time, and finally, tonight, I came up with something. The issue is simple: what is it with me and makeup? It occurs to me that my relationship with cosmetics is something like many women's relationships with food. When I'm feeling low, when I need to distract myself from something that's bothering me, I do something with my face, and then I admire my work.

I never had an eating disorder, I mean, I had a team of doctors watching everything concerning my metabolism and my weight starting when I was about 12. If I had ever shown any signs of an odd relationship with food, one of those doctors would have taken me to task and sent me into therapy.

On the other hand, lip gloss never sent anybody to a clinic. Makeup was safe; it was fun and it never got me into any trouble, unless you count the times my disdain for waterproof mascara caused problems on a rainy day, or the times a lipstick went through the wash in my pocket. (OK, so that was just the one time.)

Makeup remains sort of a hobby for me. When I feel low, I go get my face done. I think I should do that again, actually. I don't feel low, exactly, but I do feel distracted, and not in an entirely pleasant way.

The point that got me thinking along these lines was that there are things I need to write, and yet I spend my diaryland time going on about frosty eyeshadow. It's not that the writing I need to do belongs here.

And then I cleaned out my makeup box tonight because of the stuff I finally ordered from Sephora, which used up my gift certificate. (BTW, everything I cleaned out is just barely used and mostly very nice stuff, I really hate to throw it away, but I don't know what else to do with it. If anybody wants a list of the junk I set aside, I'd be ever so happy to send it. People did this all the time on alt.fashion, but I don't read AF any longer....)

And then there's the odd fact that I ate nothing but toast and snack food today. I suppose you could count the crabcake sandwich as real food, if you wanted to; it had cole slaw on it, so I did actually have some crunchy vegetable matter.

Now, I did that because of my hormones. I didn't realize that at the time, but later on in the afternoon, my body made the fact rather evident. I was glad, really. I don't know that I've ever been so happy to bleed before. It had been a while.

That's a weird thing about being a woman, you lose track of time when you're not having periods--at least I do. I kept meaning to ask whether it was strange that I hadn't had one since the transplant, but I figured they'd tell me it wasn't. The body often responds to trauma by holding onto it's ahem fluids, and mine has definitely been through some serious trauma in the past two months.

Strange as it may seem, this was a crucial step in my recovery. I can't articulate why, but it has something to do with the idea that I'm establishing a normal life. While I wasn't bleeding, I wasn't normal. I didn't get cranky, didn't bloat up or break out, and my temperature has been perfectly normal; the only weirdness I had was strange eating habits for a couple of days.

All I have to say is that if my PMS is alleviated by the transplant... bonus!

before - after